


A Little TLC Goes A Long Way

by storyranger



Series: A Boy and His (Big) Dog [3]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cigarettes, Hurt/Comfort, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8780236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyranger/pseuds/storyranger
Summary: Dean's been stabbed in the back before.Doesn’t make it hurt less.After TLC 2016, Roman tries to put the pieces back together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Tables, Ladders, Chairs 2016.  
> F**k James Ellsworth, man. I knew I hated that guy for a reason.
> 
> Rated 13+ for nudity. Slots in between chapter 2 and 3 of "The Redemption of Crossfit Jesus".

He’s fallen off ladders before. He’s been stabbed in the back before. Everything that happened tonight has happened to him before in some form over the many years he’s been doing this shit.

Doesn’t make it hurt less.

He wants to disappear like he used to, but there’s a text from Roman waiting when he checks his phone. Roman’s in the parking lot, and he doesn’t have the energy to work out a Plan B right now. May as well accept the lift to the hotel and get _that_ conversation over with.

“Say it.” Dean rasps, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Dean, I don’t-”

“Say it!”

“I warned you something didn’t seem right about Ellsworth.”

“You fucking told me. I never fucking listen to you! Why the fuck do I never listen to you? I’m a fucking idiot and my back is fucking killing me.” He slams himself into his seat in frustration, his head screaming in protest at the jolt.

“Dean-”

“Take me somewhere where I can break shit,” he growls, and Roman doesn’t argue.

 

They end up in an alley a few blocks from his hotel, each with a bag of apples and a 6-pack of cola in the old-school glass bottles. Dean’s skeptical, but Roman points out that knocking down walls or setting something on fire will attract too much attention and Dean doesn’t want to deal with cops tonight. It’s not as good as taking a sledgehammer to cinderblocks, but he has to admit that the fleshy thud of the apples as they explode against the wall is weirdly satisfying. Roman leaves all the bottles for him, and Dean hurls them at the wall two at a time like they’re throwing knives. He still wants to burn the entirety of Dallas to the ground, but he’s also tired, so tired, and when Roman takes his hand and starts to pull him back towards the van he doesn’t resist.

His skin feels too tight and _shit_ , he wants a cigarette right now but he knows Roman hates it when he smokes. He drums the door with his fingertips, his knee bouncing up and down. Finally he snaps and makes Roman pull over at a convenience store. He buys the cheapest pack they sell and smokes two in the parking lot, slumped against the brick wall. Roman shakes his head a little when Dean gets back in the car, but says nothing.

 

Somehow this feels worse than if Roman had just yelled at him.

 

When they get to his room Dean tosses himself face-down on the bed and doesn’t say anything for half an hour. Roman sits down carefully beside him and slowly starts kneading the knots out of his shoulders. He hates this, how gentle Roman’s being, like he’s some fragile thing that needs protecting.

 _Valuable,_ is the word Roman would use, but Dean’s not in the mood to be reasonable right now. He’s been letting all this affection go to his head, tricking himself into feeling safe. Going soft. He’s not safe. He’s never safe.

Time for damage control. Dean wrenches himself away from those firm hands, sitting up next to him, refusing to look at Roman’s face lest it change his mind.

“Ro, I can’t do this.”

“Dean-”

“I’m too fucked up for this feelings crap. One day you’re gonna figure it out, and you’ll leave too. You should leave now. Cut to the chase.”

“Stop it, Dean.”

“Can’t do this, Ro. Can’t keep getting burned.”

“No.”

Dean starts to say something else, but Roman cuts him off.

“Just shut up. Look, I get it, okay? You’re hurting. You’re angry. But you don’t get to do this. If you want to break up with me, you sack up and do it properly. Not like this, Dean. Not like this.”

Dean stands up, his back to Roman. He steadies himself against the wall, his breathing speeding up. Roman stares down at his hands, frozen on the bed, waiting for Dean to make a choice.

 

_BANG_

 

“Shit,” gasps Dean, looking down at his hand with mild curiosity. Blood is welling at the knuckles. There’s a fresh hole in the drywall, and Roman realises more slowly then he’d like to admit that Dean must have been the one to put it there. He’d hit a stud, one with electrical shit poorly attached to it, exposed nail ends and staples poking out everywhere. That must have been what he’d cut himself on. He’d watched Dean punch enough walls before to know drywall didn’t actually hurt much.

Meanwhile, Dean is resting his forehead against the wall, his hand dripping blood onto his jeans.

Roman comes up behind Dean slowly, gently putting both arms around him.

“Can’t lose you too,” Dean whispers. “It would kill me.”

“I know, _uce_. That’s why I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“Babe, look at me.” Dean turns slowly to face him, and Roman softly grabs Dean’s chin and tilts it up, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m not walking out on you, okay? And I’m going to keep saying it till you believe me, _uce_.”

“It hurts, Ro.” He’s holding back tears now, his voice thick with emotion.

“I know, _uce_. I know.”

Dean starts to cry at this, _because of course he knows_. He’s not sobbing, but there are enough tears to make Roman add Ellsworth to the list of people he’s murdering when The Purge becomes legal.

“I’m bleeding everywhere,” Dean observes absently, after wiping his face with the lacerated hand and leaving a streak of red behind.

“Let’s get you patched up, okay?” Roman suggests, gently trying to lead Dean to the bathroom.

“Can do it m’self,” mumbles Dean, but he doesn’t resist as Roman lifts him and settles him on the sink countertop, beginning to dab at the cuts much more gently then necessary with a warm, damp washcloth.

“Don’t have to, though.”

“No, don’t have to,” agrees Dean, slowly.

“I had to watch you fall off the top of a ladder tonight, babe. Thought you weren’t gonna get back up out of those tables for a second.”

“I always get back up,” says Dean, and he’s saying it more to himself then to Roman, almost like it’s a reminder.

“Yeah. You do.” Roman has finished wrapping up Dean’s hand, and it looks like he’s just wearing his normal tape, like nothing even happened.

“This sucks,” Dean declares, and Roman couldn’t agree more.

“Dean,” he says, tentatively, unsure whether this is the best solution to be offering right now, but without any better ideas coming to mind.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think this is something I can fuck away for you. But I can sure as hell try, if you want me to.”

The way Dean’s mouth crashes into his is all the invitation he needs. There’s travel, clearly, because fucking on a countertop is never a good call no matter what the IKEA commercials say. Pants are off before they hit the mattress. Shirts are quick to follow, but the boxers take longer, both of them teasing at the waistband of the other’s before finally they discard those too. Roman has Dean pinned against the bed, his weight keeping Dean grounded. For a few precious minutes his brain goes quiet as their bodies grind together.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to have happened. Tonight Dean was supposed to emerge the victor, bringing his title home to claim his spoils from a willing Roman.

Roman senses his distraction, and begins trailing kisses down Dean’s neck and across his chest, leaving a few bite marks for good measure where the camera probably won’t see them. He starts to slowly stroke a hand along Dean’s inner thigh, and the anticipation that begins to build drives away Dean’s thoughts again.

 

Those thoughts don’t return until long after they’ve both come, Roman rolling to face the wall and falling asleep almost instantly in Dean’s arms. Dean tries to focus on Roman’s steady breathing, tries to tether himself to the present, but his brain is sucking him under and he can’t hold out much longer. He’s finally forced to submit, to endure wave after wave of shame and grief as he picks over every moment, everything he could possibly have done differently to lead tonight to a better ending. Eventually he gives up on sleep, grabbing the smokes and a lighter and slipping out onto the balcony. He knows each of the cancer sticks buys him five minutes, tops, but he’s desperate and Roman’s not awake to stop him. He folds his knees against his chest and lights up.

 

Roman finds him an hour later, as the sun is slowly beginning to rise. He’d thrown the rest of the cigarettes over the balcony wall after he’d smoked three, afraid of where finishing the pack would lead him. Roman grimaces at the lingering scent of smoke, but he sits down next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders anyway.

“M’sorry.” Dean mumbles, flicking the lighter on and off.

“I’m glad you’re just out here,” Roman says, quietly. “I get worried, when I wake up and you’re gone. Scared you won’t come back.” He reaches for Dean’s free hand, and eventually he drags him inside. He convinces him to go back to bed before pressing a kiss to Dean’s forehead and heading out to his own show.

 

This time Dean finally sleeps.


End file.
